She looked over the stock of paper which her aunt kept in a desk inthe dining-room, but she did not like it. "I don't believe he willwant to write on such ordinary paper as this," she said to herself.Whereupon she went up-stairs and got some of her own paper andenvelopes, which were much finer in material and more correct instyle. "I don't like it a bit," she thought, "to give this to him towrite that letter on, but I suppose it's bound to be written, anyway,so he might as well have the satisfaction of good paper."

"You must excuse these little sheets," she said, when she took it tohim, "but you couldn't expect anything else, in an Amazonian householdlike ours. Cousin Junius has manly stationery, of course, but Isuppose it is all locked up in that secretary in your room."

"Oh, this will do very well indeed," said Lawrence; "and I wish Icould come out and help you into your vehicle," regarding the springwagon which now stood at the door, with Plez at the head of the solemnsorrel.

"Thank you," said Miss Annie, "that is not at all necessary." And shetripped over to the spring wagon, and mounting into its altitudeswithout the least trouble in the world, she took up the reins. Withthese firmly grasped in her little hands, which were stretched veryfar out, and held very wide apart, she gave the horse a great jerk andtold him to "Get up!" As she moved off, Lawrence from his open doorcalled out: "_Bon voyage_" and in a full, clear voice she thankedhim, but did not dare to look around, so intent was she upon hercharioteering.

Slowly turning the horse toward the yard gate, which Plez stoodholding open, her whole soul was absorbed in the act of guiding theequipage through the gateway. Quickly glancing from side to side, andthen at the horse's back, which ought to occupy a medium positionbetween the two gateposts, she safely steered the front wheels throughthe dangerous pass, although a grin of delight covered the face ofPlez as he noticed that the hub of one of the hind wheels almostgrazed a post. Then the observant boy ran on to open the other gate,and with many jerks and clucks, Miss Annie induced the sorrel to breakinto a gentle trot.

As Lawrence looked after her, a little pang made itself noticeable inhis conscience. This girl was certainly very kind to him, and mostremarkably considerate of him in the plan she had proposed. And yet hefelt that he had prevaricated to her, and, in fact, deceived her, inthe answer he had made when she asked him if he had sent her cousinto speak for him to Miss March. Would she have such friendly feelingstoward him, and be so willing to oblige him, if she knew that he hadin effect done the thing which she considered so wrong and so cruel?But it could not be helped; the time had passed for confidences. Hemust now work out this affair for himself, without regard to personswho really had nothing whatever to do with it.

Closing his door, he hopped back to his table, and, seating himself atit, he opened his travelling inkstand and prepared to write to MissMarch. It was absolutely necessary that he should write this letter,immediately, for, after the message he had received from the lady ofhis love, no time should be lost in putting himself in communicationwith her. But, before beginning to write, he must decide upon thespirit of his letter.

Under the very peculiar circumstances of his acceptance, he did notfeel that he ought to indulge in those rapturous expressions ofecstacy in which he most certainly would have indulged, if the ladyhad personally delivered her decision to him. He did not doubt her,for what woman would play a joke like that on a man--upon two men, infact? Even if there were no other reason she would not dare to do it.Nor did he doubt Keswick. It would have been impossible for him tocome with such a message, if it had not been delivered to him. Andyet Lawrence could not bring himself to be rapturous. If he had beenaccepted in cold blood, and a hand, and not a heart, had been given tohim, he would gladly take that hand and trust to himself to so warmthe heart that it, also, would soon be his. But he did not know whatRoberta March had given him.

On the other hand, he knew very well if, in his first letter as anaccepted lover, he should exhibit any of that caution and prudencewhich, in the course of his courtship, had proved to be shoals onwhich he had very nearly run aground, that Roberta's resentment, whichhad shown itself very marked in this regard, would probably be rousedto such an extent that the affair would be brought to a very speedyand abrupt termination. If she had been obliged to forgive him, once,for this line of conduct, he could not expect her to do it again. Towrite a letter, which should err in neither of these respects, was avery difficult thing to do, and required so much preparatory thought,that when, toward the close of the afternoon, Miss Annie drove in atthe yard gate, with Mrs Keswick on the seat beside her, not a line hadbeen written.

Mrs Keswick descended from the spring wagon and went into the house,but Miss Annie remained at the bottom of the steps, for the apparentpurpose of speaking to Plez; perhaps to give him some instructions inregard to the leading of a horse to its stable, or to instil into hismind some moral principle or other; but the moment the vehicle movedaway, she ran over to the office and tapped at the window, which wasquickly opened by Lawrence.

"I have spoken to her about it," she said, "and although she blazedup at first, so that I thought I should be burned alive, I made herunderstand just how matters really are, and she has agreed to let youstay here as a boarder."

"You are extremely good," said Lawrence, "and must be a most admirablemanager. This arrangement makes me feel much better satisfied than Icould have been, otherwise." Then leaning a little further out of thewindow, he asked: "But what am I to do for company, while I am shut uphere?"

"Oh, you will have Uncle Isham, and Aunt Keswick, and sometimes me.But I hope that you will soon be able to come into the house, and takeyour meals, and spend your evenings with us."

"You have nothing but good wishes for me," he said, "and I believe, ifyou could manage it, you would have me cured by magic, and sent off,well and whole, to-morrow."

"Of course," said Miss Annie, very promptly. "Good night."

Just before supper, Mrs Keswick came in to see Lawrence. She was verygrave, almost severe, and her conversation was confined to inquiriesas to the state of his ankle, and his general comfort. But Lawrencetook no offence at her manner, and was very gracious, saying someexceedingly neat things about the way he had been treated; and, aftera little, her manner slightly mollified, and she remarked: "And so youlet Miss March go away, without settling anything."

Now Lawrence considered this a very incorrect statement, but he had nowish to set the old lady right. He knew it would joy her heart, andmake her more his friend than, ever if he should tell her that MissMarch had accepted him, but this would be a very dangerous piece ofinformation to put in her hands. He did not know what use she wouldmake of it, or what damage she might unwittingly do to his prospects.And so he merely answered: "I had no idea she would leave so soon."

"Well," said the old lady, "I suppose, after all, that you needn'tgive it up yet. I understand that she is not going to New York beforethe end of the month, and you may be well enough before that to rideover to Midbranch."

"I hope so, most assuredly," said he.

Lawrence devoted that evening to his letter. It was a long one, andwas written with a most earnest desire to embrace all the merits ofeach of the two kinds of letters, which have before been alluded to,and to avoid all their faults. When it was finished, he read it, toreit up, and threw it in the fire.

CHAPTER XXIII.

The next day opened bright and clear, and before ten o'clock, thethermometer had risen to seventy degrees. Instead of sitting in frontof the fireplace, Lawrence had his chair and table brought close tohis open doorway, where he could look out on the same beautiful scenewhich had greeted his eyes a few days before. "But what is the good,"he thought, "of this green grass, this sunny air, that blue sky, thosewhite clouds, and the distant tinted foliage, without that figure,which a few days ago stood in the foreground of the picture?" But,as the woman to whom, in his soul's sight, the whole world was but abackground, was not there, he turned his eyes from the warm autumnalscene, and prepared again to write to her. He had scarcely taken uphis pen, however, when he was interrupted by the arrival of MissAnnie, who came to bring him a book she had just finished reading, alate English novel which she thought might be more interesting thanthose she had sent him. The book was one which Lawrence had not seenand wanted to see, but in talking about it, to the young lady, hediscovered that she had not read all of it.

"Don't let me deprive you of the book," said Lawrence. "If you havebegun it, you ought to go on with it."

"Oh, don't trouble your mind about that," she said, with a laugh. "Ihave finished it, but I have not read a word of the beginning. I onlylooked at the end of it, to see how the story turned out. I always dothat, before I read a novel."

This remark much amused Lawrence. "Do you know," said he, "that Iwould rather not read novels at all, than to read them in that way. Imust begin at the beginning, and go regularly through, as the authorwishes his readers to do."

"And perhaps, when you get to the end," said Miss Annie, "you'll findthat the wrong man got her, and then you'll wish you had not read thestory."

"As you appear to be satisfied with this novel," said Lawrence, "Iwish you would read it to me, and then I would feel that I was nottaking an uncourteous precedence of you."

"I'll read it to you," said she, "or, at least, as much as you wantme to, for I feel quite sure that after you get interested in it,you will want to take it, yourself, and read straight on till it isfinished, instead of waiting for some one to come and give you achapter or two at a time. That would be the way with me, I know."

"I shall be delighted to have you read to me," said Lawrence. "Whencan you begin?"

"Now," she said, "if you choose. But perhaps you wish to write."

"Not at this moment," said Lawrence, turning from the table."Unfortunately I have plenty of leisure. Where will you sit?" And hereached out his hand for a chair.

"Oh, I don't want a chair," said Annie, taking her seat on the broaddoor-step. "This is exactly what I like. I am devoted to sitting onsteps. Don't you think there is something dreadfully stiff aboutalways being perched up in a chair?"

"Yes," said Lawrence, "on some occasions."

And, forthwith, she began upon the first chapter; and having readfive lines of this, she went back and read the title page, suddenlyremembering that Mr Croft liked to begin a book at the very beginning.Miss Annie had been accustomed to read to her father, and she readaloud very well, and liked it. As she sat there, shaded by a greatlocust tree, which had dropped so many yellow leaves upon the grass,that, now and then, it could not help letting a little fleck ofsunshine come down upon her, sometimes gilding for a moment herlight-brown hair, sometimes touching the end of a crimson ribbon shewore, and again resting for a brief space on the toe of a very smallboot just visible at the edge of her dress, Lawrence looked at her,and said to himself: "Is it possible that this is the rather paleyoung girl in black, who gave me change from behind the desk of MrCandy's Information Shop? I don't believe it. That young person sprangup, temporarily, and is defunct. This is some one else."

She read three chapters before she considered it time to go into thehouse to see if it was necessary for her to do anything about dinner.When she left him, Lawrence turned again to his writing.

That afternoon, he sent Mrs Null a little note on the back of a card,asking her if she could let him have a few more sheets of paper.Lawrence found this request necessary, as he had used up that dayall the paper she had sent him, and the small torn pieces of it nowlittered the fireplace.

"He must be writing a diary letter," said Miss Annie to herself when,she received this message, "such as we girls used to write when wewere at school." And, bringing down a little the corners of her mouth,she took from her stationery box what she thought would be quite paperenough to send to a man for such a purpose.

But, although the means were thus made abundant, the letter to MissMarch was not then written. Lawrence finally determined that it wassimply impossible for him to write to the lady, until he knew more.What Keswick had told him had been absurdly little, and he had hurriedaway before there had been time to ask further questions. Instead ofsending a letter to Miss March, he would write to Keswick, and wouldput to him a series of interrogations, the answers to which would makehim understand better the position in which he stood. Then he wouldwrite to Miss March.

The next day Miss Annie could not read to him in the morning, because,as she came and told him, she was going to Howlett's, on an errand forher aunt. But there would be time to give him a chapter or two beforedinner, when she came back.

"Would it be any trouble," said Lawrence, "for you to mail a letterfor me?"

"Oh, no," said Miss Annie, but not precisely in the same tone in whichshe would have told him that it would be no trouble to read to him twoor three chapters of a novel. And yet she would pass directly by theresidence of Miss Harriet Corvey, the post-mistress.

As Miss Annie walked along the narrow path which ran by the roadsideto Howlett's, with the blue sky above her, and the pleasant Octobersunshine all about her, and followed at a little distance by the boyPlez, carrying a basket, she did not seem to be taking that enjoymentin her walk which was her wont. Her brows were slightly contractedand she looked straight in front of her, without seeing anything inparticular, after the manner of persons whose attention is entirelyoccupied in looking into their own minds, at something they do notlike. "It is too much!" she said, almost loud, her brows contractinga little more as she spoke. "It was bad enough to have to furnish thepaper, but for me to have to carry the letter, is entirely too much!"And, at this, she involuntarily glanced at the thick and doublestamped missive, which, having no pocket, she carried in her hand. Shehad not looked at it before, and as her eyes fell upon the address,she stopped so suddenly that Plez, who was dozing as he walked, nearlyran into her. "What!" she exclaimed, "'Junius Keswick, five Q street,Washington, District of Columbia!' Is it possible that Mr Croft hasbeen writing to him, all this time?" She now walked on; and althoughshe still seemed to notice not the material objects around her, thefrown disappeared from her brow, and her mental vision seemed to befixed upon something more pleasant than that which had occupied itbefore. As it will be remembered, she had refused positively to haveanything to do with Lawrence's suit to Miss March, and it was a reliefto her to know that the letter she was carrying was not for that lady."But why," thought she, "should he be writing, for two whole evenings,to Junius. I expected that he would write to her, to find out why shewent off and left him in that way, but I did not suppose he would wantto write to Junius. It seems to me they had time enough, that nightthey were together, to talk over everything they had to say."

And then she began to wonder what they had to say, and, gradually, theconviction grew upon her that Mr Croft was a very, very honorable man.Of course it was wrong that he should have come here to try to win alady who, if one looked at it in the proper light, really belonged toanother. But it now came into her mind that Mr Croft must, by degrees,have seen this, for himself, and that it was the subject of his longconference with Junius, and also, most probably, of this letter.The conference certainly ended amicably, and, in that case, it wasscarcely possible that Junius had given up his claim. He was not thatkind of a man.

If Mr Croft had become convinced that he ought to retire from thiscontest, and had done so, and Roberta had been informed of it, thatwould explain everything that had happened. Roberta's state of mind,after she had had the talk in the parlor with Junius, and her hurrieddeparture, without taking the slightest notice of either of thegentlemen, was quite natural. What woman would like to know that shehad been bargained about, and that her two lovers had agreed which ofthem should have her? It was quite to be expected that she would bevery angry, at first, though there was no doubt she would get over it,so far as Junius was concerned.

Having thus decided, entirely to her own satisfaction, that this wasthe state of affairs, she thought it was a grand thing that there weretwo such young men in the world, as her cousin and Mr Croft, who couldarrange such an affair in so kindly and honorable a manner, withoutfeeling that they were obliged to fight--that horribly stupid way inwhich such things used to be settled.

This vision of masculine high-mindedness, which Miss Annie had calledup, seemed very pleasant to her, and her mental satisfaction wasdenoted by a pretty little glow which came into her face, and by acertain increase of sprightliness in her walk. "Now then,--" she saidto herself; and although she did not finish the sentence, even in herown mind, the sky increased the intensity of its beautiful blue; thesun began to shine with a more golden radiance; the little birds whohad not yet gone South, chirped to each other as merrily as if it hadbeen early summer; the yellow and purple wild flowers of autumn threwinto their blossoms a richer coloring; and even the blades of grassseemed to stretch themselves upward, green, tender, and promising;and when the young lady skipped up the step of the post-office, shedropped the letter into Miss Harriet Corvey's little box, with the airof a mother-bird feeding a young one with the first ripe cherry of theyear.

A day or two after this, Lawrence found himself able, by the aid of acane and a rude crutch, which Uncle Isham had made for him and the topof which Mrs Keswick had carefully padded, to make his way from theoffice to the house; and, after that, he took his meals, and passedthe greater part of his time in the larger edifice. Sometimes, heransacked the old library; sometimes, Miss Annie read to him; andsometimes, he read to her. In the evening, there were games of cards,in which the old lady would occasionally take a hand, although morefrequently Miss Annie and Mr Croft were obliged to content themselveswith some game at which two could play. But the pleasantest hours,perhaps, were those which were spent in talking, for Lawrence hadtravelled a good deal, and had seen so many of the things in foreignlands which Miss Annie had always wished, that she could see. Lawrencewas waiting until he should hear from Mr Keswick; so that, with someconfidence in his position, he could write to Miss March. His trunkhad been sent over from the Green Sulphur Springs, and he was muchbetter satisfied to wait here than at that deserted watering-place. Itwas, indeed, a very agreeable spot in which to wait, and quite nearenough to Midbranch for him to carry on his desired operations, whenthe time should arrive. He was a little annoyed that Keswick's answershould be so long in coming, but he resolved not to worry himselfabout it. The answer was, probably, a difficult letter to write, andone which Keswick would not be likely to dash off in a hurry. Heremembered, too, that the mail was sent and received only twice a weekat Howlett's.

Old Mrs Keswick was kind to him, but grave, and rather silent. Onceshe passed the open door of the parlor, by the window of which satMiss Annie and Lawrence, deeply engaged, their heads together, instudying out something on a map, and as she went up-stairs she grimlygrinned, and said to herself: "If that Null could look in and see themnow, I reckon our young man would wish he had the use of all his armsand legs."

But if Mr Null should disapprove of his wife and that gentleman fromNew York spending so much of their time together, old Mrs Keswick hadnot the least objection in the world. She was well satisfied that MrCroft should find it interesting enough to stay here until the timecame when he should be able to go to Midbranch. When that periodarrived she would not be slow to urge him to his duty, in spite of anyobstacles Mr Brandon might put in his way. So, for the present, shepossessed her soul in as much peace as the soul of a headstrong andvery wilful old lady is capable of being possessed.

CHAPTER XXIV.

The letter which Lawrence Croft had written to Junius Keswick was notanswered for more than a week, and when the answer arrived, it did notcome through the Howlett's post-office, but was brought from a mailstation on the railway by a special messenger. In this epistle MrKeswick stated that he would have written much sooner but for the factthat he had been away from Washington, and having just returned, hadfound Mr Croft's letter waiting for him. The answer was written in atone which Lawrence did not at all expect. It breathed the spirit of aman who was determined, and almost defiant. It told Mr Croft that thewriter did not now believe that Miss March's acceptance of the said MrCroft, should be considered of any value, whatever. It was the resultof a very peculiar condition of things, in which he regretted havingtaken a part, and it was given in a moment of pique and indignation,which gave Miss March a right to reconsider her hasty decision, if shechose to do so. It would not be fair for either of them to accept, asconclusive, words said under the extraordinary circumstances whichsurrounded Miss March when she said those words. "You asked me todo you a favor," wrote Junius Keswick, "and, very much against myinclination, and against what is now my judgment, I did it. I now askyou to do me a favor, and I do not think you should refuse it. I askyou not to communicate with Miss March until I have seen her, and haveobtained from her an explanation of the acceptance in question. I havea right to this explanation, and I feel confident that it will begiven to me. You ask me what I truly believe Miss March meant by hermessage to you. I answer that I do not know, but I intend to find outwhat she meant, and as soon as I do so, I will write to you. I think,therefore, considering what you have asked me to do, and what youhave written to me, about what I have done, that you cannot refuse toabstain from any further action in the matter, until I am enabled toanswer you. I cannot leave Washington immediately, but I shall go toMidbranch in a very few days."

This letter was very far from being a categorical answer to Lawrence'squestions, and it disappointed and somewhat annoyed that gentleman;but after he had read it for the second time, and carefully consideredit, he put it in his pocket and said to himself, "This ends alldiscussion of this subject. Mr Keswick may be right in the positionhe takes, or he may be wrong. He may go to Midbranch; he may get hisexplanation; and he may send it to me. But, without any regard to whathe does, or says, or writes, I shall go to Miss March as soon as I amable to use my ankle, and, whether she be at her uncle's house, orwhether she has gone to New York, or to any other place, I shall seeher, and, myself, obtain from her an explanation of this acceptance.This is due to me as well as to Mr Keswick, and if he thinks he oughtto get it, for himself, I also think I ought to get it, for myself."

The good results of Lawrence's great care in regard to his injuredankle soon began to show themselves. The joint had slowly but steadilyregained its strength and usual healthy condition; and Lawrence nowfound that he could walk about without the assistance of his rudecrutch. He was still prudent, however, and took but very short walks,and in these he leaned upon his trusty cane. The charming autumn days,which often come to Virginia in late October and early November, werenow at their best. Day after day, the sun shone brightly, but therewas in the air an invigorating coolness, which made its radiancesomething to be sought for and not avoided.

It was just after dinner, and it was Saturday afternoon, when MissAnnie announced that she was going to see old Aunt Patsy, whom she hadsomewhat neglected of late.

"May I go with you?" said Lawrence.

Miss Annie shook her head doubtfully. "I should be very glad to haveyour company," she said, "but I am afraid it will be entirely too muchof a walk for you. The days are so short that the sun will be lowbefore we could get back, and if you should be tired, it would not dofor you to sit down and rest, at that time of day."

"I believe," said Lawrence, "that my ankle is quite strong enough forme to walk to Aunt Patsy's and back, without sitting down to rest. Iwould be very glad to go with you, and I would like, too, to see thatvenerable colored woman again."

"Well," said Miss Annie, "if you really think you can walk so far, itwill be very nice indeed to have you go, but you ought to feel verysure that it will not hurt you."

"Come along," said Lawrence, taking up his hat and cane.

After a man has been shut up, as Lawrence had been, a pleasant ramblelike this is a most delightful change, and he did not hesitate tomanifest his pleasure. This touched the very sensitive soul ofhis companion, and with such a sparkle of talk did she evince hergratification, that almost any one would have been able to see thatshe was a young lady who had an earnest sympathy with those who hadundergone afflictions, but were now freed from them.

Aunt Patsy was glad to see her visitors, particularly glad, it seemed,to see Mr Croft. She was quite loquacious, considering the greatlength of her days, and the proverbial shortness of her tongue.

"Why, Aunt Patsy," said Miss Annie, "you seem to have grown youngersince I last saw you! I do believe you are getting old backwards! Whatare you going to do with that dress-body?" "I's lookin' at dis h'yar,"said Aunt Patsy, turning over the well-worn body of a black woollendress which lay in her lap, instead of the crazy quilt on which shewas usually occupied, "to see if it's done gib way in any ob de seams,or de elbers. 'Twas a right smart good frock once, an' I's gwine towear it ter-morrer."

"Oh, that's too long a story," said Miss Annie, with a laugh. "Youknow I hadn't seen Aunt Keswick, then. I couldn't go about introducingmyself to other people before I had seen her."

Aunt Patsy gave a sagacious nod of her head. "I reckon you thoughtshe'd be right much disgruntled when she heered you was mar'ed, an'you wanted to tell her youse'f. But I's pow'ful glad dat it's allright now. You all don' know how pow'ful glad I is." And she lookedat Mr Croft and Miss Annie with a glance as benignant as her time-setcountenance was capable of.

"But Aunt Patsy," said Annie, quite willing to change theconversation, although she did not know the import of the old woman'slast remark, "I thought you were not able to go out."

The old woman gave a little chuckle. "Dat's wot eberybody thought, an'to tell you de truf, Miss Annie, I thought so too. But ef I was strong'nuf to go to de pos' offis,--an' I did dat, Miss Annie, an' not longago nuther,--I reckon I's strong 'nuf to go to chu'ch, an' Uncle Ishamis a comin' wid de oxcart to take me ter-morrer mawnin'. Dar'll bepow'ful wakenin's, an' I ain't seen de Jerus'lum Jump in a mighty longtime."

"Aunt Patsy," said Miss Annie, "would there be any objection to ourgoing to your church to-morrow?"

The old woman gave her head a little shake. "Dunno," she said. "As agin'ral rule we don't like white folks at our preachin's. Dey's gotdar chu'ches, an' dar ways, an' we's got our chu'ches, an' our ways.But den it's dif'rent wid you all. An' you all's not like white folksin gin'ral, an' 'specially strawngers. You all isn't strawngers now. Idon't reckon dar'll be no 'jections to your comin', ef you set sollum,an' I know you'll do dat, Miss Annie, coz you did it when you was alittle gal. An' I reckon it'll be de same wid him?" looking at MrCroft.

Miss Annie assured her that she and her companion would be certain to"sit solemn," and that they would not think of such a thing as goingto church and behaving indecorously.

When the two had taken leave of the old woman, and Miss Annie had goneout of the door, Aunt Patsy leaned very far forward, and stretchingout her long arm, seized Mr Croft by the skirt of his coat. He steppedback, quite surprised, and then she said to him, in a low but veryearnest voice: "I reckon dat dat ar sprain ankle was nuffin but aacciden'; but you look out, sah, you look out! Hab you got dem littleshoes handy?"

"I shall be sure to remember," said Lawrence, as he hastened out torejoin Annie.

"What in the world had Aunt Patsy to say to you?" asked that somewhatsurprised young lady.

Then Lawrence told her how some time before Aunt Patsy had given him apair of blue shoes, which she said would act as a preventive charm, incase Mrs Keswick should ever wish to do him harm, and that she had nowcalled him back to remind him not to neglect this means of personalprotection. "I can't imagine," said Lawrence, "that your aunt wouldever think of such a thing as doing me a harm, or how those littleshoes would prevent her, if she wanted to, but I suppose Aunt Patsy iscrack-brained on some subjects, and so I thought it best to humor her,and took the shoes."

"Do you know," said Miss Annie, after walking a little distance insilence, "that I am afraid Aunt Patsy has done a dreadful thing, andone I never should have suspected her of. Aunt Keswick had a littlebaby once, and it died very young. She keeps its clothes in a box, andI remember when I was a little girl that she once showed them to me,and told me I was to take the place of that little girl, and thatfrightened me dreadfully, because I thought that I would have to die,and have my clothes put in a box. I recollect perfectly that there wasa pair of little blue shoes among these clothes, and Aunt Patsy musthave stolen them."

"That surprises me," said Lawrence. "I supposed, from what I had heardof the old woman, that she was perfectly honest."

"So she is," said Annie. "She has been a trusted servant in our familynearly all her life. But some negroes have very queer ideas abouttaking certain things, and I suppose Aunt Patsy had some particularreason for taking those shoes, for, of course, they could be of novalue to her."

"I am very sorry," said Lawrence, "that such sacred relics should havecome into my possession, but I must admit that I would not like togive them back to your aunt."

"Oh, no," said Annie, "that would never do; and I wouldn't dare to tryto find her box, and put them in it. It would seem like a desecrationfor any hand but her own to touch those things."

"That is true," said Lawrence, "and you might get yourself into a lotof trouble by endeavoring to repair the mischief. Before I leave here,we may think of some plan of disposing of the little trotters. Itmight be well to give them back to Aunt Patsy and tell her to restorethem."

"I don't know," said Miss Annie, with a slowness of reply, and anirrelevance of demeanor, which indicated she was not thinking of thewords she was speaking.

The sun was now very near the horizon, and that evening coolnesswhich, in the autumn, comes on so quickly after the sunshine fades outof the air, made Lawrence give a little shrug with his shoulders. Heproposed that they should quicken their pace, and as his companionmade no objection, they soon reached the house.

The next day being Sunday, breakfast was rather later than usual, andas Lawrence looked out on the bright morning, with the mists justdisengaging themselves from the many-hued foliage which crowned thetops of the surrounding hills; and on the recently risen sun, hangingin an atmosphere of grey and lilac, with the smile of Indian summer onits face; he thought he would like to take a stroll, before that meal;but either the length of his walk on the previous day, or the rapidityof the latter portion of it, had been rather too much for thenewly-recovered strength of his ankle, which now felt somewhat stiffand sore. When he mentioned this at the breakfast table, he received agood deal of condolence from the two ladies, especially Mrs Keswick.And, at first, it was thought that it might be well for him to giveup his proposed attendance at the negro church. But to this Lawrencestrongly objected, for he very much desired to see some of thepeculiar religious services of the negroes. He had been talking on thesubject the evening before with Mrs Keswick, who had told him that inthis part of the country, which lay in the "black belt" of Virginia,where the negro population had always been thickest, these ceremonieswere more characteristic of the religious disposition of the African,than in those sections of the State where the white race exerted agreater influence upon the manners and customs of the colored people.

"But it will not be necessary to walk much," said Miss Annie. "We cantake the spring-wagon, and you can go with us, aunt."

The old lady permitted herself a little grin. "When I go to church,"she said, "I go to a white folks' church, and try to see what I can ofwhite folks' Christianity, though I must say that Christianity ofthe other color is often just as good, as far as works go. But it isnatural that a stranger should want to see what kind of servicesthe colored people have, so you two might as well get into thespring-wagon and go along."

"But shall we not deprive you of the vehicle?" said Lawrence.

"I never go to church in the spring-wagon," said the old lady, "solong as I am able to walk. And, besides, this is not our Sunday forpreaching."

It seemed to Lawrence that an elderly person who went about in apurple calico sun-bonnet, and with an umbrella of the same material,might go to church in a wheelbarrow, so far as appearances wereconcerned, but he had long ceased to wonder at Mrs Keswick'sidiosyncrasies. "I remember very well," said Miss Annie, after theold lady had left the table, which she always did as soon as she hadfinished a meal, "when Aunt Keswick used to go to church in a bigfamily carriage, which is now sleeping itself to pieces out there inthe barn. But then she had a pair of big gray horses, one of themnamed Doctor and the other Colonel. But now she has only one horse,and I am going to tell Uncle Isham to harness that one up before hegoes to church himself. You know he is to take Aunt Patsy in theox-cart, so he will have to go early."

They went to the negro church in the spring-wagon, Lawrence drivingthe jogging sorrel, and Miss Annie on the seat beside him. When theyreached the old frame edifice in the woods beyond Howlett's, theyfound gathered there quite a large assemblage, for this was one ofthose very attractive occasions called a "big preaching." Horses andmules, and wagons of various kinds, many of the latter containingbaskets of refreshments, were standing about under the trees; and MrsKeswick's cart and oxen, tethered to a little pine tree, gave proofthat Aunt Patsy had arrived. The inside of the church was nearly full,and outside, around the door, stood a large number of men and boys.The white visitors were looked upon with some surprise, but way wasmade for them to approach the door, and as soon as they entered thebuilding two of the officers of the church came forward to show themto one of the uppermost seats; but this honor Miss Annie strenuouslydeclined. She preferred a seat near the open door, and therefore sheand Mr Croft were given a bench in that vicinity, of which they hadsole possession.

To Lawrence, who had never seen anything of the sort, the serviceswhich now began were exceedingly interesting; and as Annie had notbeen to a negro church since she was a little girl, and very seldomthen, she gave very earnest and animated attention to what was goingon. The singing, as it always is among the negroes, was powerful andmelodious, and the long prayer of Brother Enoch Hines was one of thosespirited and emotional statements of personal condition, and wild andardent supplication, which generally pave the way for a most powerfulawakening in an assemblage of this kind. Another hymn, sung in morevigorous tones than the first one, warmed up the congregation tosuch a degree that when Brother Hines opened the Bible, and madepreparations for his discourse, he looked out upon an audience asanxious to be moved and stirred as he was to move and stir it. Thesermon was intended to be a long one, for, had it been otherwise,Brother Hines had lost his reputation; and, therefore, the preacher,after a few prefatory statements, delivered in a grave and solemnmanner, plunged boldly into the midst of his exhortations, knowingthat he could go either backward or forward, presenting, with equalacceptance, fresh subject matter, or that already used, so long as hisstrength held out. He had not preached half an hour before his hearerswere so stirred and moved, that a majority of them found it utterlyimpossible to merely sit still and listen. In different ways theirawakening was manifested; some began to sing in a low voice; othersgently rocked their bodies; while fervent ejaculations of variouskinds were heard from all parts of the church. From this beginning,arose gradually a scene of religious activity, such as Lawrence hadnever imagined. Each individual allowed his or her fervor to expressitself according to the method which best pleased the worshipper.Some kept to their seats, and listened to the words of the preacher,interrupting him occasionally by fervent ejaculations; others sangand shouted, sometimes standing up, clapping their hands and stampingtheir feet; while a large proportion of the able-bodied members lefttheir seats, and pushed their way forward to the wide, open spacewhich surrounded the preacher's desk, and prepared to engage in theexhilarating ceremony of the "Jerusalem Jump."

Two concentric rings were formed around the preacher, the inner onecomposed of women, the outer one of men, the faces of those formingthe inner ring being turned towards those in the outer. As soon as allwere in place, each brother reached forth his hand, and took the handof the sister opposite to him, and then each couple began to jump upand down violently, shaking hands and singing at the top of theirvoices. After about a minute of this, the two circles moved, one, oneway and one another, so that each brother found himself oppositea different sister. Hands were again immediately seized, and thejumping, hand-shaking, and singing went on. Minute by minute theexcitement increased; faster the worshippers jumped, and louder theysang. Through it all Brother Enoch Hines kept on with his sermon.It was very difficult now to make himself heard, and the time forexplanation or elucidation had long since passed; all he could do wasto shout forth certain important and moving facts, and this he didover and over again, holding his hand at the side of his mouth, as ifhe were hailing a vessel in the wind. Much of what he said was lostin the din of the jumpers, but ever and anon could be heard ringingthrough the church the announcement: "De wheel ob time is a turnin'roun'!"

In a group by themselves, in an upper corner of the congregation, werefour or five very old women, who were able to manifest their piousenthusiasm in no other way than by rocking their bodies backwardsand forwards, and singing with their cracked voices a gruesomeand monotonous chant. This rude song had something of a wild anduncivilized nature, as if it had come down to these old people fromthe savage rites of their African ancestors. They did not sing inunison, but each squeaked or piped out her, "Yi, wiho, yi, hoo!"according to the strength of her lungs, and the degree of herexaltation. Prominent among these was old Aunt Patsy; her little blackeyes sparkling through her great iron-bound spectacles; her head andbody moving in unison with the wild air of the unintelligible chantshe sang; her long, skinny hands clapping up and down upon herknees; while her feet, encased in their great green baize slippers,unceasingly beat time upon the floor.

So many persons being absent from their seats, the group of old womenwas clearly visible to Annie and Lawrence, and Aunt Patsy also couldeasily see them. Whenever her head, in its ceaseless moving from sideto side, allowed her eyes to fall upon the two white visitors, herardor and fervency increased, and she seemed to be expressing a piousgratitude that Miss Annie and he, whom she supposed to be her husband,were still together in peace and safety.

Annie was much affected by all she saw and heard. Her face wasslightly pale, and occasionally she was moved by a little nervoustremor. Mr Croft, too, was very attentive. His soul was not moved toenthusiasm, and he did not feel, as his companion did, now andthen, that he would like to jump up and join in the dancing and theshouting; but the scene made a very strong impression upon him.

Around and around went the two rings of men and women, jumping,singing, and hand-shaking. Out from the centre of them came thestentorian shout: "De wheel ob time is a turnin' roun'!" From allparts of the church rose snatches of hymns, exultant shouts, groans,and prayers; and, in the corner, the shrill chants of the old womenwere fitfully heard through the storm of discordant worship.

In the midst of all the wild din and hubbub, the soul of Aunt Patsylooked out from the habitation where it had dwelt so long, and,without giving the slightest notice to any one, or attracting theleast attention by its movements, it silently slipped away.

The old habitation of the soul still sat in its chair, but no onenoticed that it no longer sang, or beat time with its hands and feet.

Not long after this, Lawrence looked round at his companion, andnoticed that she was slightly trembling. "Don't you think we have hadenough of this?" he whispered.

"Yes," she answered. And they rose and went out. They thought theywere the first who had left.

CHAPTER XXV.

When Mr Croft and Miss Annie got into the spring-wagon, and the headof the sorrel was turned away from the church, Lawrence looked at hiswatch, and remarked that, as it was still quite early, there might betime for a little drive before going back to the house for dinner. Theface of the young lady beside him was still slightly pale, and thethought came to him that it would be very well for her if her mindcould be diverted from the abnormally inspiriting scene she had justwitnessed.

"Dinner will be late to-day," she said, "for I saw Letty doing herbest among the Jerusalem Jumpers."

"Very well," said he, "we will drive. And now, where shall we go?"

"If we take the cross-road at the store," said Miss Annie, "and go onfor about half a mile, we can turn into the woods, and then there is abeautiful road through the trees, which will bring us out on the otherside of Aunt Keswick's house. Junius took me that way not long ago."

So they turned at the store, much to the disgust of the ploddingsorrel, who thought he was going directly home, and they soon reachedthe road that led through the woods. This was hard and sandy, as aremany of the roads through the forests in that part of the country, andit would have been a very good driving road, had it not been for theoccasional protrusion of tree roots, which gave the wheels a littlebump, and for the branches which, now and then, hung down somewhat toolow for the comfort of a lady and gentleman, riding in a rather highspring-wagon without a cover. But Lawrence drove slowly, and so theroot bumps were not noticed; and when the low-hanging boughs were onhis side, he lifted them so that his companion's head could pass underand, when they happened to be on her side, Annie ducked her head,and her hat was never brushed off. But, at times, they drove quite adistance without overhanging boughs, and the pine trees, surrounded bytheir smooth carpet of brown spines, gave forth a spicy fragrance inthe warm, but sparkling air; the oak trees stood up still dark andgreen; while the chestnuts were all dressed in rich yellow, with thechinquepin bushes by the roadside imitating them in color, as theytried to do in fruit. Sometimes a spray of purple flowers could beseen among the trees, and great patches of sunlight which, hereand there, came through the thinning foliage, fell, now upon thebrilliantly scarlet leaves of a sweet-gum, and now upon the polishedand brown-red dress of a neighboring black-gum.

The woods were very quiet. There was no sound of bird or insect, andthe occasional hare, or "Molly Cotton-tail," as Annie delightedlycalled it, who hopped across the road, made no noise at all. A gentlewind among the tops of the taller trees made a sound as of a distantsea; but, besides this, little was heard but the low, crunching noiseof the wheels, and the voices of Lawrence and Miss Annie.

Reaching a place where the road branched, Lawrence stopped the horse,and looked up each leafy lane. They were completely deserted. Whitepeople seldom walked abroad at this hour on Sunday, and the negroesof the neighborhood were at church. "Is not this a frightfully lonelyplace?" he said. "One might imagine himself in a desert."

"I like it," replied Annie. "It is so different from the wild,exciting tumult of that church. I am glad you took me away. At first Iwould not have missed it for the world, but there seemed to come intothe stormy scene something oppressive, and almost terrifying."

"I am glad I took you away," said Lawrence, "but it seems to me thatyour impression was not altogether natural. I thought that, amid allthat mad enthusiasm, you were over-excited, not depressed. A solemnsolitude like this would, to my thinking, be much more likely to loweryour spirits. I don't like solitude, myself, and therefore, I supposeit is that I thought an impressible nature, like yours, would findsomething sad in the loneliness of these silent woods."

Annie turned, and fixed on him her large blue eyes. "But I am notalone," she said.

As Lawrence looked into her eyes he saw that they were as clear as thepurest crystal, and that he could look through them straight into hersoul, and there he saw that this woman loved him. The vision wasas sudden as if it had been a night scene lighted up by a flash oflightning, but it was as clear and plain as if it had been that samescene under the noonday sun.

There are times in the life of a man, when the goddess of ReasonableImpulse raises her arms above her head, and allows herself a littleyawn. Then she takes off her crown and hangs it on the back of herthrone; after which she rests her sceptre on the floor, and, rising,stretches herself to her full height, and goes forth to take a long,refreshing walk by the waters of Unreflection. Then her minister,Prudence, stretches himself upon a bench, and, with his handkerchiefover his eyes, composes himself for a nap. Discretion, Worldly Wisdom,and other trusted officers of her court, and even, sometimes, thatagile page called Memory, no sooner see their royal mistress departthan, by various doors, they leave the palace and wander far away.Then, silently, with sparkling eyes, and parted lips, comes that fairbeing, Unthinking Love. She puts one foot upon the lower step ofthe throne; she looks about her; and, with a quick bound, she seatsherself. Upon her tumbled curls she hastily puts the crown; with hersmall white hand she grasps the sceptre; and then, rising, waves it,and issues her commands. The crowd of emotions which serve as hersatellites, seize the great seal from the sleeping Prudence, and thenew Queen reigns!

All this now happened to Lawrence. Never before had he looked into theeyes of a woman who loved him; and, leaning over towards this one, heput his arm around her and drew her towards him. "And never shall yoube alone," he said.

She looked up at him with tears starting to her eyes, and then she puther head against his breast. She was too happy to say anything, andshe did not try.

It was about a minute after this, that the sober sorrel, who took nointerest in what had occurred behind him, and a great deal of interestin his stable at home, started in an uncertain and hesitating way;and, finding that he was not checked, began to move onward. Lawrencelooked up from the little head upon his breast, and called out,"Whoa!" To this, however, the sorrel paid no attention. Lawrencethen put forth his right hand to grasp the reins, but having latelyforgotten all about them, they had fallen out of the spring-wagon, andwere now dragging upon the ground. It was impossible for him to reachthem, and so, seizing the whip, he endeavored with its aid to hookthem up. Failing in this, he was about to jump out and run to thehorse's head; but, perceiving his intention, Annie seized his arm."Don't you do it!" she exclaimed. "You'll ruin your ankle!"

Lawrence could not but admit to himself that he was not in conditionto execute any feats of agility, and he also felt that Annie had avery charming way of holding fast to his arm, as if she had a rightto keep him out of danger. And now the sorrel broke into the jog-trotwhich was his usual pace. "It is very provoking," said Lawrence, "Idon't think I ever allowed myself to drop the reins before."

"It doesn't make the slightest difference," said Annie, comfortingly."This old horse knows the road perfectly well, and he doesn't need abit of driving. He will take us home just as safely as if you heldthe reins, and now don't you try to get them, for you will only hurtyourself."

"Very well," said Lawrence, putting his arm around her again, "I amresigned. But I think you are very brave to sit so quiet and composed,under the circumstances."

She looked at him with a smile. "Such a little circumstance don'tcount, just now," she said. "You must stop that," she added,presently, "when we get to the edge of the woods."

Before long, they came out into the open country and found themselvesin a lane which led by a wide circuit to the road passing MrsKeswick's house. The old sorrel certainly behaved admirably; he heldback when he descended a declivity; he walked over the rough places;and he trotted steadily where the road was smooth.

"It seems like our Fate," said Annie, who now sat up without an armaround her, the protecting woods having been left behind, "he justtakes us along without our having anything to do with it."

"He is not much of a horse," said Lawrence, clasping, in anunobservable way, the little hand which lay by his side, "but the Fateis charming."

Fortunately there was no one upon the road to notice the reinlessplight in which these two young people found themselves, and they werequite as well satisfied as if they had been doing their own driving.After a little period of thought, Annie turned an earnest face toLawrence, and she said: "Do you know that I never believed that youwere really in love with Roberta March."

Lawrence squeezed her hand, but did not reply. He knew very well thathe had loved Roberta March, and he was not going to lie about it.

"I thought so," she continued, "because I did not believe that anyone, who was truly in love, would want to send other people about, topropose for him, as you did."

"That is not exactly the state of the case," he said, "but we must nottalk of those things now. That is all passed and gone."

"But if there ever was any love," she persisted, "are you sure that itis all gone?"

"Gone," he answered, earnestly, "as utterly and completely as the daysof last summer."

And now the sorrel, of his own accord, stopped at Mrs Keswick's outergate; and Lawrence, getting down, took up the reins, opened the gate,and drove to the house in quite a proper way.

When Mr Croft helped Annie to descend from the spring-wagon, he didnot squeeze her hand, nor exchange with her any tender glances, forold Mrs Keswick was standing at the top of the steps. "Have you seenLetty?" she asked.

"Letty?" said Miss Annie. "Oh, yes," she added, as if she suddenlyremembered that such a person existed, "Letty was at church, and shewas very active."

"Well," said the old lady, "she must have taken more interest in theexercises than you did, for it is long past the time when I told hershe must be home."

"I do not believe, madam," said Lawrence, "that any one could havetaken more interest in the exercises of this morning, than we have."

At this, Annie could not help giving him a little look which wouldhave provoked reflection in the mind of the old lady, had she not beenvery earnestly engaged in gazing out into the road, in the hope ofseeing Letty.

When Lawrence had gone into the office, and had closed the door behindhim, he stood in a meditative mood before the empty fireplace. He wasmaking inquiries of himself in regard to what he had just done. Hewas not accusing himself, nor indulging in regrets; he was simplyinvestigating the matter. Here he stood, a man accepted by two women.If he had ever heard of any other man in a like condition, he wouldhave called that man a scoundrel, and yet he did not deem himself ascoundrel.

The facts in the case were easy enough to understand. For the firsttime in his life he had looked into the eyes of a woman who loved him,and he had discovered to his utter surprise that he loved her. Therehad been no plan; no prudent outlook into her nature and feelings;no cautious insight into his own. He had taken part in a mostunpremeditated act of pure and simple love; and that it was real andpure love on each side, he no more doubted than he doubted that helived. And yet, had he been an impostor when, on that hill over there,he told Roberta March he loved her? No, he had been honest, he hadloved her; and, since the time that he had been roused to action bythe discovery of Junius Keswick's intentions to renew his suit, it hadbeen a love full of a rare and alluring beauty. But its charm, itsfascination, its very existence, had disappeared in the first flash ofhis knowledge that Annie Peyton loved him. Had his love for Robertabeen a perfect one, had he been sure that she returned it, then itcould not have been overthrown; but it had gone, and a love, completeand perfect, stood in its place. He had seen that he was loved, and heloved. That was all, but it would stand forever.

This was the state of the case, and now Lawrence set himself todiscover if, in all ways, he had acted truly and honestly. He had beenaccepted by Miss March, but what sort of acceptance was it? Should he,as a man true to himself, accept such an acceptance? What was he tothink of a woman who, very angry as he had been informed, had sent hima message, which meant everything in the world to him, if it meantanything, and had then dashed away without allowing him a chance tospeak to her, or even giving him a nod of farewell. The last thing shehad really said to him in this connection were those cruel words onPine Top Hill, with which she had asked him to choose a spot in whichto be rejected. Could he consider himself engaged? Would a woman whocared for him act towards him in such a manner? After all, was thatacceptance anything more than the result of pique? And could he not,quite as justly, accept the rejection which she had professed herselfanxious to give him.

A short time before, Lawrence had done his best to explain to hisadvantage these peculiarities of his status in regard to Miss March.He had said to himself that she had threatened to reject him becauseshe wished to punish him, and he had intended to implore her pardon,and expected to receive it. Over and over again, had he argued withhimself in this strain, and yet, in spite of it all, he had not beenable to bring himself into a state of mind in which he could sit downand write to her a letter, which, in his estimation, would be certainto seal and complete the engagement. "How very glad I am," he now saidto himself, "that I never wrote that letter!" And this was the onlydecision at which he had arrived, when he heard Mrs Keswick calling tohim from the yard.

He immediately went to the door, when the old lady informed him, thatas Letty had not come back, and did not appear to be intending to comeback, and that as none of the other servants on the place had madetheir appearance, he might as well come into the house, and try tosatisfy his hunger on what cold food she and Mrs Null had managed tocollect.

The most biting and spicy condiments of the little meal, to which thethree sat down, were supplied by Mrs Keswick, who reviled withoutstint those utterly thoughtless and heedless colored people, who, oncein the midst of their crazy religious exercises, totally forgot thatthey owed any duty whatever to those who employed them. Lawrence andAnnie did not say much, but there was something peculiarly piquant inthe way in which Annie brought and poured out the tea she had made,and which, with the exception of the old lady's remarks, was the onlywarm part of the repast; and there was an element of buoyancy in themanner of Mr Croft, as he took his cup to drink the tea. Although hesaid little at this meal, he thought a great deal, listening not atall to Mrs Keswick's tirades. "What a charmingly inconsiderate affairthis has been!" he said to himself. "Nothing planned, nothing providedfor, or against; all spontaneous, and from our very hearts. I neverthought to tell her that she must say nothing to her aunt, until wehad agreed how everything should, be explained, and I don't believethe idea that it is necessary to say anything to anybody, has enteredher mind. But I must keep my eyes away from her if I don't want tobring on a premature explosion."

Whatever might be the result of the reasoning which this young manhad to do with himself, it was quite plain that he was abundantlysatisfied with things as they were.

It was beginning to be dark, when Letty and Uncle Isham returned andexplained why they had been so late in returning.

Old Aunt Patsy had died in church.

CHAPTER XXVI.

"Lawrence," said Annie, on the forenoon of the next day, as they weresitting together in the parlor with the house to themselves, MrsKeswick having gone to Aunt Patsy's cabin to supervise proceedingsthere, "Lawrence, don't you feel glad that we did not have a chance tospeak to dear old Aunt Patsy about those little shoes? Perhaps she hadforgotten that she had stolen them, and so went to heaven without thatsin on her soul."

"That is a very comfortable way of looking at it," said Lawrence, "butwouldn't it be better to assume that she did not steal them?"

"I am very sorry," said Annie, "but that is not easy to do. But don'tlet us think anything more about that. And, don't you feel very gladthat the poor old creature, who looked so happy as she sat singing andclapping her hands on her knees, didn't die until after we had leftthe church? If it had happened while we were there, I don't believe--"

"Don't believe what?" asked Lawrence.

"Well, that you now would be sitting with your arm on the back of mychair."

Lawrence was quite sure, from what had been told him, that AuntPatsy's demise had taken place before they left the church, but hedid not say so to Annie. He merely took his arm from the back of herchair, and placed it around her.

"And do you know," said she, "that Letty told me something, thismorning, that is so funny and yet in a certain way so pathetic, thatit made me laugh and cry both. She said that Aunt Patsy always thoughtthat you were Mr Null."

At this, Lawrence burst out laughing, but Annie checked him and wenton; "And she told Letty in church, when she saw us two come in, thatshe believed she could die happy now, since she had seen Miss Anniemarried to such a peart gentleman, and that it looked as if old misshad got over her grudge against him."

"And didn't Letty undeceive her?" asked Lawrence.

"No, she said it would be a pity to upset the mind of such an oldwoman, and she didn't do it."

"Then the good Aunt Patsy died," said Lawrence, "thinking I was thatwretched tramp of a bone-dust pedler, which the fancy of your aunt hasconjured up. That explains the interest the venerable colored womantook in me. It is now quite easy to understand; for, if your auntabused your mythical husband to everybody, as she did to me, I don'twonder Aunt Patsy thought I was in danger."

"Poor old woman," said Annie, looking down at the floor, "I am so gladthat we helped her to die happy."

"As she was obliged to anticipate the truth," said Lawrence, "in orderto derive any comfort from it, I am glad she did it. But although I amdelighted, more than my words can tell you, to take the place of yourMr Null, you must not expect me to have any of his attributes."

"Now just listen to me, sir," said Annie. "I don't want you to say oneword against Mr Null. If it had not been for that good Freddy, thingswould have been very different from what they are now. If you care forme at all, you owe me entirely to Freddy Null."

"Entirely?" asked Lawrence.

"Of course I mean in regard to opportunities of finding out things andsaying them. If Aunt Keswick had supposed I was only Annie Peyton, shewould not have allowed Mr Croft to interfere with her plans for Juniusand me. I expected Mr Null to be of service to me, but no one couldhave imagined that he would have brought about anything like this."

"Blessed be Null!" exclaimed Lawrence.

Annie asked him to please to be more careful, for how did he know thatone of the servants might not be sweeping the front porch, and ofcourse, they would look in at the windows.

"But, my dear child," said Lawrence, pushing back his chair to aprudent distance, "we must seriously consider this Null business. Weshall have to inform your aunt of the present state of affairs, andbefore we do that, we must explain what sort of person Frederick Null,Esquire, really was--I am not willing to admit that he exists, even asa myth."

"Oh dear! oh dear!" exclaimed Annie. "We shall have a dreadful time!When Aunt Keswick knows that there never was any Mr Null, and thenhears that you and I are engaged, it will throw her into the mostdreadful state of mind that she has ever been in, in her life; andfather has told me of some of the awful family earthquakes that AuntKeswick has brought about, when things went wrong with her."

"We must be very cautious," said Lawrence, "and neither of us must saya word, or do anything that may arouse her suspicions, until we havesettled upon the best possible method of making the facts known toher. The case is indeed a complicated one."

"And what makes it more so," said Annie, "is Aunt Keswick's beliefthat you are in love with Miss March, and that you want to get achance to propose to her. She does think that, doesn't she?"

"Yes," said Lawrence, "I must admit that she does."

"And she must be made to understand that that is entirely at an end,"continued Annie. "All this will be a very difficult task, Lawrence,and I don't see how it is to be done."

"But we shall do it," he answered, "and we must not forget to be veryprudent, until it is fully settled how we shall do it."

When Lawrence retired to his room, and sat down to hold that peculiarcourt in which he was judge, jury, lawyers, and witnesses, as well asthe prisoner at the bar, he had to do with a case, a great deal morecomplicated and difficult than that which perplexed the mind of MissAnnie Peyton. He began by the very unjudicial act of pledging himself,to himself, that nothing should interfere with this new, this truelove. In spite of all that might be said, done, or thought, AnniePeyton should be his wife. There was no indecision, whatever, inregard to the new love; the only question was: "What is to be doneabout the old one?"

Lawrence could not admit, for a moment, that he could have spoken toRoberta March as he had spoken, if he had not loved her; but he couldnow perceive that that love had been in no small degree impaired andweakened by the manner of its acceptance. The action of Miss March onher last day here had much more chilled his ardor than her wordson Pine Top Hill. He had not, before, examined thoroughly into thecondition of that ardor after the departure of the lady, but it wasplain enough now.

There was, therefore, no doubt whatever in regard to his love for MissMarch; he was quite ready and able to lay that aside. But what abouther acceptance of it? How could he lay that aside?

This was the real case before the court. The witnesses could give noavailable testimony, the lawyers argued feebly, the jury disagreed,and Lawrence, in his capacity of judge, dismissed the case. In hisefforts to conduct his mind through the channels of law and equity,Lawrence had not satisfied himself, and his thoughts began to be movedby what might be termed his military impulses. "I made a charge intothe camp," he said with a little downward drawing of the corners ofhis mouth, "and I did not capture the commander-in-chief. And now Iintend to charge out again."

He sat down to his table, and wrote the following note:

"My Dear Miss March:

"I have been waiting for a good many days, hoping to receive,either from you or Mr Keswick, an explanation of the message yousent to me by him. I now believe that it will be impossible to give asatisfactory explanation of that message. I therefore recur to our lastprivate interview, and wish to say to you that I am ready, at any time,to meet you under either a sycamore or a cherry tree."

And then he signed it, and addressed it to Miss March at Midbranch.This being done, he put on his hat, and stepped out to see if amessenger could be found to carry the letter to its destination, forhe did not wish to wait for the semi-weekly mail. Near the house hemet Annie.

"What have you been doing all this time?" she asked.

"I have been writing a letter," he said, "and am now looking for somecolored boy who will carry it for me."

"Who is it to?" she asked.

"Miss March," was his answer.

"Let me see it," said Annie.

At this, Lawrence looked at her with wide-open eyes, and then helaughed. Never, since he had been a child, had there been any one whowould have thought of such a thing as asking to see a private letterwhich he had written to some one else; and that this young girl shouldstand up before him with her straightforward expectant gaze and makesuch a request of him, in the first instance, amused him.

"You don't mean to say," she added, "that you would write anything toMiss March which you would not let me see."

"This letter," said Lawrence, "was written for Miss March, and no oneelse. It is simply the winding up of that old affair."

"Give it to me," said Annie, "and let me see how you wound it up."

Lawrence smiled, looked at her in silence for a moment, and thenhanded her the letter.

"I don't want you to think," she said, as she took it, "that I amgoing to ask you to show me all the letters you write. But when youwrite one to a lady like Miss March, I want to know what you say toher." And then she read the letter. When she had finished, she turnedto Lawrence, and with her countenance full of amazement, exclaimed: "Ihaven't the least idea in the world what all this means! What messagedid she send you? And why should you meet her under a tree?"

These questions went so straight to the core of the affair, and wereso peculiarly difficult to answer, that Lawrence, for the moment,found himself in the very unusual position of not knowing what to say,but he presently remarked: "Do you think it is of any advantage toeither of us to talk over this affair, which is now past and gone?"

"I don't want to talk over any of it," said Annie, very promptly,"except the part of it which is referred to in this letter; but I wantto know about that."

"That covers the most important part of it," said Lawrence.

"Very good," she answered, "and so you can tell it to me. And now,that I think of it, you can tell me, at the same time, why you wantedto find my cousin Junius. You refused once to tell me that, you know."

"I remember," said Lawrence. "And if you have the least feeling aboutit I will relate the whole affair, from beginning to end."

"That, perhaps, will be the best thing to do, after all," said Annie."And suppose we take a walk over the fields, and then you can tell itwithout being interrupted."

But Lawrence did not feel that his ankle would allow him to acceptthis invitation, for it had hurt him a good deal since his walk toAunt Patsy's cabin. He said so to Annie, and excited in her thedeepest feelings of commiseration.

"You must take no more walks of any length," she exclaimed, "until youare quite, quite well! It was my fault that you took that tramp toAunt Patsy's. I ought to have known better. But then," she said,looking up at him, "you were not under my charge. I shall take verygood care of you now."

"For my part," he said, "I am glad I have this little relapse, for nowI can stay here longer."

"I am very, very sorry for the relapse," said she, "but awfully gladfor the stay. And you mustn't stand another minute. Let us go and sitin the arbor. The sun is shining straight into it, and that will makeit all the more comfortable, while you are telling me about thosethings."

They sat down in the arbor, and Lawrence told Annie the whole historyof his affair with Miss March, from the beginning to the end; that isif the end had been reached; although he intimated to her no doubtupon this point. This avowal he had never expected to make. In facthe had never contemplated its possibility. But now he felt a certainsatisfaction in telling it. Every item, as it was related, seemedthrown aside forever. "And now then, my dear Annie," he said, when hehad finished, "what do you think of all that?"

"Well," she said, "in the first place, I am still more of the opinionthan I was before, that you never were really in love with her. Youdid entirely too much planning, and investigating, and calculating;and when, at last, you did come to the conclusion to propose to her,you did not do it so much of your own accord, as because you foundthat another man would be likely to get her, if you did not make apretty quick move yourself. And as to that acceptance, I don't thinkanything of it at all. I believe she was very angry at Junius becausehe consented to bring your messages, when he ought to have been hisown messenger, and that she gave him that answer just to rack his soulwith agony. I don't believe she ever dreamed that he would take it toyou. And, to tell the simple truth, I believe, from what I saw of herthat morning, that she was thinking very little of you, and a greatdeal of him. To be sure, she was fiery angry with him, but it isbetter to be that way with a lover, than to pay no attention to him atall."

This was a view of the case which had never struck Lawrence before,and although it was not very flattering to him, it was verycomforting. He felt that it was extremely likely that this young womanhad been able to truthfully divine, in a case in which he had failed,the motives of another young woman. Here was a further reason forcongratulating himself that he had not written to Miss March.

"And as to the last part of the letter," said Annie, "you are notgoing under any cherry tree, or sycamore either, to be refused by her.What she said to you was quite enough for a final answer, without anysigning or sealing under trees, or anywhere else. I think the bestthing that can be done with this precious epistle is to tear it up."

Lawrence was amused by the piquant earnestness of this decision. "Butwhat am I to do," he asked, "I can't let the matter rest in thisunfinished and unsatisfactory condition."

"You might write to her," said Annie, "and tell her that you haveaccepted what she said to you on Pine Top Hill as a conclusive answer,and that you now take back everything you ever said on the subjectyou talked of that day. And do you think it would be well to put inanything about your being otherwise engaged?"

At this Lawrence laughed. "I think that expression would hardlyanswer," he said, "but I will write another note, and we shall see howyou like it."

"That will be very well," said the happy Annie, "and if I were you I'dmake it as gentle as I could. It's of no use to hurt her feelings."

"Oh, I don't want to do that," said Lawrence, "and now that we havethe opportunity, let us consider the question of informing your auntof our engagement."

"Oh dear, dear, dear!" said Annie, "that is a great deal worse thaninforming Miss March that you don't want to be engaged to her."

"That is true," said Lawrence. "It is not by any means an easy pieceof business. But we might as well look it square in the face, anddetermine what is to be done about it."

"It is simple enough, just as we look at it," said Annie. "All we haveto do, is to say that, knowing that Aunt Keswick had written to myfather that she was determined to make a match between cousin Juniusand me, I was afraid to come down here without putting up someinsurmountable obstacle between me and a man that I had not seen sinceI was a little girl. Of course I would say, very decidedly, that Iwouldn't have married him if I hadn't wanted to; but then, consideringAunt Keswick's very open way of carrying out her plans, it would havebeen very unpleasant, and indeed impossible for me to be in the housewith him unless she saw that there was no hope of a marriage betweenus; and for this reason I took the name of Mrs Null, or Mrs Nothing;and came down here, secure under the protection of a husband whonever existed. And then, we could say that you and I were a good dealtogether, and that, although you had supposed, when you came here,that you were in love with Miss March, you had discovered that thiswas a mistake, and that afterwards we fell in love with each other,and are now engaged. That would be a straightforward statement ofeverything, just as it happened; but the great trouble is: How are wegoing to tell it to Aunt Keswick?"

"You are right," said Lawrence. "How are we going to tell it?"

"It need not be told!" thundered a strong voice close to their ears.And then there was a noise of breaking lattice-work and crackingvines, and through the back part of the arbor came an old womanwearing a purple sun-bonnet, and beating down all obstacles beforeher with a great purple umbrella. "You needn't tell it!" cried MrsKeswick, standing in the middle of the arbor, her eyes glistening, herform trembling, and her umbrella quivering in the air. "You needn'ttell it! It's told!"

Graphic and vivid descriptions have been written of those furiousstorms of devastating wind and deluging rain, which suddenly sweepaway the beauty of some fair tropical scene; and we have read, too, ofdreadful cyclones and tornadoes, which rush, in mad rage, over landand sea, burying great ships in a vast tumult of frenzied waves, orcrushing to the earth forests, buildings, everything that may lie intheir awful paths; but no description could be written which couldgive an adequate idea of the storm which now burst upon Lawrence andAnnie. The old lady had seen these two standing together in the yard,conversing most earnestly. She had then seen Annie read a letterthat Lawrence gave her; and then she had perceived the two, in closeconverse, enter the arbor, and sit down together without the slightestregard for the rights of Mr Null.

Mrs Keswick looked upon all this as somewhat more out-of-the-way thanthe usual proceedings of these young people, and there came into hermind a curiosity to know what they were saying to each other. So sheimmediately repaired to the large garden, and quietly made her way tothe back of the arbor, in which advantageous position she heard thewhole of Lawrence's story of his love-affair with Miss March; Annie'sremarks upon the same, and the facts of this young lady's proposedconfession in regard to her marriage with Mr Null, and her engagementto Mr Croft.

Then she burst in upon them; the tornado and the cyclone raged; thethunder rolled and crashed; and the white lightning of her wrathflashed upon the two, as if it would scathe and annihilate them, asthey stood before her. Neither of them had ever known or imaginedanything like this. It had been long since Mrs Keswick had had anopportunity of exercising that power of vituperative torment, whichhad driven a husband to the refuge of a reverted pistol; which hadbanished, for life, relatives and friends; and which, in the shape ofa promissory curse, had held apart those who would have been husbandand wife; and now, like the long stored up venom of a serpent, itburst out with the direful force given by concentration and retention.

At the first outburst, Annie had turned pale and shrunk back, but nowshe clung to the side of Lawrence, who, although his face was somewhatblanched and his form trembled a little with excitement, still stoodup bravely, and endeavored, but ineffectually, to force upon the oldlady's attention a denial of her bitter accusations. With face almostas purple as the bonnet she wore, or the umbrella she shook inthe air, the old lady first addressed her niece. With scorn andcondemnation she spoke of the deceit which the young girl hadpractised upon her. But this part of the exercises was soon over. Sheseemed to think that although nothing could be viler than Annie'sconduct towards her, still the fact that Mr Null no longer existed,put Annie again within her grasp and control, and made it unnecessaryto say much to her on this occasion. It was upon Lawrence that themain cataract of her fury poured. It would be wrong to say that shecould not find words to express her ire towards him. She found plentyof them, and used them all. He had deceived her most abominably; hehad come there, the expressed and avowed lover of Miss March; he hadconnived with her niece in her deceit; he had taken advantage of allthe opportunities she gave him to attain the legitimate object of hisvisit, to inveigle into his snares this silly and absurd young woman;and he had dared to interfere with the plans, which, by day and bynight, she had been maturing for years. In vain did Lawrence endeavorto answer or explain. She stopped not, nor listened to one word.

"And you need not imagine," she screamed at him, "that you are goingto turn round, when you like, and marry anybody you please. You areengaged, body and soul, to Roberta March, and have no right, by lawsof man or heaven, to marry anybody else. If you breathe a word of loveto any other woman it makes you a vile criminal in the eyes of thelaw, and renders you liable to prosecution, sir. Your affianced brideknows nothing of what her double-faced snake of a lover is doing here,but she shall know speedily. That is a matter which I take into my ownhands. Out of my way, both of you!"

And with these words she charged by them, and rushed out of the arbor,and into the house.

CHAPTER XXVII.

They were not a happy pair, Lawrence Croft and Annie Peyton, as theystood together in the arbor, after old Mrs Keswick had left them. Theywere both a good deal shaken by the storm they had passed through.

"Lawrence," said Annie, looking up to him with her large eyes full ofearnestness, "there surely is no truth in what she said about yourbeing legally bound to Miss March?"

"None in the least," said Lawrence. "No man, under the circumstances,would consider himself engaged to a woman. At any rate, there isone thing which I wish you to understand, and that is that I am notengaged to Miss March, and that I am engaged to you. No matter what issaid or done, you and I belong to each other."

Annie made no answer, but she pressed his hand tightly as she lookedup into his face. He kissed her as she stood, notwithstanding hisbelief that old Mrs Keswick was fully capable of bounding down on him,umbrella in hand, from an upper window.

"What do you think she is going to do?" Annie asked presently.

"My dear Annie," said he, "I do not believe that there is a person onearth who could divine what your Aunt Keswick is going to do. As tothat, we must simply wait and see. But, for my part, I know what Imust do. I must write a letter to Miss March, and inform her, plainlyand definitely, that I have ceased to be a suitor for her hand. Ithink also that it will be well to let her know that we are engaged?"

"Yes," said Annie, "for she will be sure to hear it now. But she willthink it is a very prompt proceeding."

"That's exactly what it was," said Lawrence, smiling, "prompt anddetermined. There was no doubt or indecision about any part of ouraffair, was there, little one?"

"Not a bit of it," said Annie, proudly.

At dinner that day Annie took her place at one end of the table,and Lawrence his at the other, but the old lady did not make herappearance. She was so erratic in her goings and comings, and had sooften told them they must never wait for her, that Annie cut the ham,and Lawrence carved the fowl, and the meal proceeded without her. Butwhile they were eating Mrs Keswick was heard coming down stairs fromher room, the front door was opened and slammed violently, and fromthe dining-room windows they saw her go down the steps, across theyard, and out of the gate.

"I do hope," ejaculated Annie, "that she has not gone away to stay!"

If Annie had remembered that the boy Plez, in a clean jacket and longwhite apron, officiated as waiter, she would not have said this, butthen she would have lost some information. "Ole miss not gone tostay," he said, with the license of an untrained retainer. "She goneto Howlettses, an' she done tole Aun' Letty she'll be back agin disebenin'."

"If Aunt Keswick don't come back," said Annie, when the two were inthe parlor after dinner, "I shall go after her. I don't intend todrive her out of the house."

"There is one thing," said Annie, after a while, "that we really oughtto do. To-morrow Aunt Patsy is to be buried, and before she is putinto the ground, those little shoes should be returned to AuntKeswick. It seems to me that justice to poor Aunt Patsy requires thatthis should be done. Perhaps now she knows how wicked it was to stealthem."

"Yes," said Lawrence, "I think it would be well to put them back wherethey belong; but how can you manage it?"

"If you will give them to me," said Annie, "I will go up to aunt'sroom, now that she is away, and if she keeps the box in the same placewhere it used to be, I'll slip them into it. I hate dreadfully to doit, but I really feel that it is a duty."

When Lawrence, with some little difficulty, walked across the yard toget the shoes from his trunk, Annie ran after him, and waited at theoffice door. "You must not take a step more than necessary," she said,"and so I won't make you come back to the house."

When Lawrence gave her the shoes, and her hand a little squeeze at thesame time, he told her that he should sit down immediately and writehis letter.

"And I," said Annie, "will go, and see what I can do with these."

With the shoes in her pocket, she went up stairs into her aunt's room,and, after looking around hastily, as if to see that the old lady hadnot left the ghost of herself in charge, she approached the closet inwhich the sacred pasteboard box had always been kept. But the closetwas locked. Turning away she looked about the room. There was no otherplace in which there was any probability that the box would be kept.Then she became nervous; she fancied she heard the click of the yardgate; she would not for anything have her aunt catch her in that room;nor would she take the shoes away with her. Hastily placing them upona table she slipped out, and hurried into her own room.

It was about an hour after this, that Mrs Keswick came rapidly up thesteps of the front porch. She had been to Howlett's to carry a letterwhich she had written to Miss March, and had there made arrangementsto have that letter taken to Midbranch very early the next morning.She had wished to find some one who would start immediately, but asthere was no moon, and as the messenger would arrive after the familywere all in bed, she had been obliged to abandon this more energeticline of action. But the letter would get there soon enough; and if itdid not bring down retribution on the head of the man who lodged inher office, and who, she said to herself, had worked himself into herplans, like the rot in a field of potatoes, she would ever after admitthat she did not know how to write a letter. All the way home she hadconned over her method of action until Mr Brandon, or a letter, shouldcome from Midbranch.

She had already attacked, together, the unprincipled pair who foundshelter in her house, and she now determined to come upon themseparately, and torment each soul by itself. Annie, of course, wouldcome in for the lesser share of the punishment, for the fact thatthe wretched and depraved Null was no more, had, in a great measure,mitigated her offence. She was safe, and her aunt intended to hold herfast, and do with her as she would, when the time and Junius came. Butupon Lawrence she would have no mercy. When she had delivered him intothe hands of Mr Brandon, or those of Roberta's father, or the clutchesof the law, she would have nothing more to do with him, but until thattime she would make him bewail the day when he deceived and imposedupon her by causing her to believe that he was in love with anotherwhen he was, in reality, trying to get possession of her niece. Therewere a great many things which she had not thought to say to him inthe arbor, but she would pour the whole hot mass upon his head thatevening.

Stamping up the stairs, and thumping her umbrella upon every step asshe went, hot vengeance breathing from between her parted lips, andher eyes flashing with the delight of prospective fury, she enteredher room. The light of the afternoon had but just begun to wane, andshe had not made three steps into the apartment, before her eyes fellupon a pair of faded, light blue shoes, which stood side by side upona table. She stopped suddenly, and stood, pale and rigid. Her graspupon her umbrella loosened, and, unnoticed, it fell upon the floor.Then, her eyes still fixed upon the shoes, she moved slowly sidewisetowards the closet. She tried the door, and found it still locked;then she put her hand in her pocket, drew out the key, looked at it,and dropped it. With faltering steps she drew near the table, andstood supporting herself by the back of a chair. Any one else wouldhave seen upon that table merely a pair of baby's shoes; but she sawmore. She saw the tops of the little socks which she had folded awayfor the last time so many years before; she saw the first short dressher child had ever worn; it was tied up with pink ribbons at theshoulders, from which hung two white, plump, little arms. There was alittle neck, around which was a double string of coral fastened by asmall gold clasp. Above this was a face, a baby face, with soft, paleeyes, and its head covered with curls of the lightest yellow, notarranged in artistic negligence, but smooth, even, and regular, as sheso often had turned, twisted, and set them. It was indeed her babygirl who had come to her as clear and vivid in every feature, limb,and garment, as were the real shoes upon the table. For many minutesshe stood, her eyes fixed upon the little apparition, then, slowly,she sank upon her knees by the chair, her sun-bonnet, which she hadnot removed, was bowed, so the pale eyes of the little one could notsee her face, and from her own eyes came the first tears that that oldwoman had shed since her baby's clothes had been put away in the box.

* * * * *

Lawrence's letter to Miss March was a definitely expressed document,intended to cover all the ground necessary, and no more; but it couldnot be said that it was entirely satisfactory to himself. His case, tosay the least of it, was a difficult one to defend. He was aware thathis course might be looked upon by others as dishonorable, although heassured himself that he had acted justly. It might have been betterto wait for a positive declaration from Miss March, that she had nottruly accepted him, before engaging himself to another lady. But then,he said to himself, true love never waits for anything. At all events,he could write no better letter than the one he had produced, and hehoped he should have an opportunity to show it to Annie before he sentit.

He need not have troubled himself in this regard, for he and Anniewere not disturbed during the rest of that day by the appearanceof Mrs Keswick; but after the letter had been duly considered andapproved, he found it difficult to obtain a messenger. There was noone on the place who would undertake to walk to Midbranch, and hecould not take the liberty of using Mrs Keswick's horse for the trip,so it was found necessary to wait until the morrow, when the lettercould be taken to Howlett's, where, if no one could be found to carryit immediately, it would have to be entrusted to the mail which wentout the next day. Lawrence, of course, knew nothing of Mrs Keswick'smessage to Midbranch, or he would have been still more desirous thathis letter should be promptly dispatched.

The evening was not a very pleasant one; the lovers did not know atwhat moment the old lady might descend upon them, and the element ofunpleasant expectancy which pervaded the atmosphere of the house wassomewhat depressing. They talked a good deal of the probabilities ofMrs Keswick's action. Lawrence expected that she would order him away,although Annie had stoutly maintained that her aunt would have noright to do this, as he was not in a condition to travel. Thisargument, however, made little impression upon Lawrence, who was notthe man to stay in any house where he was not wanted; besides, he knewvery well that for any one to stay in Mrs Keswick's house when she didnot want him, would be an impossibility. But he did not intend to slipaway in any cowardly manner, and leave Annie to bear alone the bruntof the second storm. He felt sure that such a storm was impending, andhe was also quite certain that its greatest violence would break uponhim. He would stay, therefore, and meet the old lady when she nextdescended upon them, and, before he went away, he would endeavor toutter some words in defence of himself and Annie.

They separated early, and a good deal of thinking was done by thembefore they went to sleep.

The next morning they had only each other for company at breakfast,but they had just risen from that meal when they were startled by theentrance of Mrs Keswick. Having expected her appearance during thewhole of the time they were eating, they had no reason to be startledby her coming now, but for their subsequent amazement at herappearance and demeanor, they had every reason in the world. Her facewas pale and grave, with an air of rigidity about it, which wasnot common to her, for, in general, she possessed a very mobilecountenance. Without speaking a word, she advanced towards Lawrence,and extended her hand to him. He was so much surprised that while hetook her hand in his he could only murmur some unintelligible form ofmorning salutation. Then Mrs Keswick turned to Annie, and shook handswith her. The young girl grew pale, but said not a word, but sometears came into her eyes, although why this happened she could nothave explained to herself. Having finished this little performance,the old lady walked to the back window, and looked out into the flowergarden, although there was really nothing there to see. Now Anniefound voice to ask her aunt if she would not have some breakfast.

"No," said Mrs Keswick, "my breakfast was brought up-stairs to me."And with that she turned and went out of the room. She closed the doorbehind her, but scarcely had she done so, when she opened it againand looked in. It was quite plain, to the two silent and astonishedobservers of her actions, that she was engaged in the occupation, veryunusual with her, of controlling an excited condition of mind. Shelooked first at one, and then at the other, and then she said, in avoice which seemed to meet with occasional obstructions in its course:"I have nothing more to say about anything. Do just what you please,only don't talk to me about it." And she closed the door.

"What is the meaning of all this?" said Lawrence, advancing towardsAnnie. "What has come over her?"

"I am sure I don't know," said Annie, and with this she burst intotears, and cried as she would have scorned to cry, during the terriblestorm of the day before.

That morning, Lawrence Croft was a very much puzzled man. What hadhappened to Mrs Keswick he could not divine, and at times he imaginedthat her changed demeanor was perhaps nothing but an artful cover tosome new and more ruthless attack.

Annie took occasion to be with her aunt a good deal during themorning, but she reported to Lawrence that the old lady had said verylittle, and that little related entirely to household affairs.

Mrs Keswick ate dinner with them. Her manner was grave, and evenstern; but she made a few remarks in regard to the weather and someneighborhood matters; and before the end of the meal both Lawrence andAnnie fancied that they could see some little signs of a return to herusual humor, which was pleasant enough when nothing happened to makeit otherwise. But expectations of an early return to her ordinarymanner of life were fallacious; she did not appear at supper; and shespent the evening in her own room. Lawrence and Annie had thus ampleopportunity to discuss this novel and most unexpected state ofaffairs. They did not understand it, but it could not fail to cheerand encourage them. Only one thing they decided upon, and that wasthat Lawrence could not go away until he had had an opportunity offully comprehending the position, in relation to Mrs Keswick, in whichhe and Annie stood.

About the middle of the evening, as Lawrence was thinking that it wastime for him to retire to his room in the little house in the yard,Letty came in with a letter which she said had been brought fromMidbranch by a colored man on a horse; the man had said there was noanswer, and had gone back to Howlett's, where he belonged.

The letter was for Mr Croft and from Miss March. Very much surprisedat receiving such a missive, Lawrence opened the envelope. His letterto Miss March had not yet been sent, for the new state of affairs hadnot only very much occupied his mind, but it also seemed to renderunnecessary any haste in the matter, and he had concluded to mail theletter the next day. This, therefore, was not in answer to anythingfrom him; and why should she have written?

It was with a decidedly uneasy sensation that Lawrence began to readthe letter, Annie watching him anxiously as he did so. The letter wasa somewhat long one, and the purport of it was as follows: The writerstated that, having received a most extraordinary and astoundingepistle from old Mrs Keswick, which had been sent by a specialmessenger, she had thought it her duty to write immediately on thesubject to Mr Croft, and had detained the man that she might send thisletter by him. She did not pretend to understand the full purport ofwhat Mrs Keswick had written, but it was evident that the old ladybelieved that an engagement of marriage existed between herself (MissMarch) and Mr Croft. That that gentleman had given such informationto Mrs Keswick she could hardly suppose, but, if he had, it must havebeen in consequence of a message which, very much to her surprise andgrief, had been delivered to Mr Croft by Mr Keswick. In order thatthis message might be understood, Miss March had determined to make afull explanation of her line of conduct towards Mr Croft.

During the latter part of their pleasant intercourse at Midbranchduring the past summer, she had reason to believe that Mr Croft'sintentions in regard to her were becoming serious, but she had alsoperceived that his impulses, however earnest they might have been,were controlled by an extraordinary caution and prudence, which,although it sometimes amused her, was not in the least degreecomplimentary to her. She could not prevent herself from resentingthis somewhat peculiar action of Mr Croft, and this resentment grewinto a desire, which gradually became a very strong one, that shemight have an opportunity of declining a proposal from him. Thatopportunity came while they were both at Mrs Keswick's, and she hadintended that what she said at her last interview with Mr Croft shouldbe considered a definite refusal of his suit, but the interview hadterminated before she had stated her mind quite as plainly as she hadpurposed doing. She had not, however, wished to renew the conversationon the subject, and had concluded to content herself with what she hadalready said; feeling quite sure that her words had been sufficientto satisfy Mr Croft that it would be useless to make any furtherproposals.

When, on the eve of her departure from the house, Mr Keswick hadbrought her Mr Croft's message, she was not only amazed, butindignant; not so much at Mr Croft for sending it, as at Mr Keswickfor bringing it. Miss March was not ashamed to confess that she wasirritated and incensed to a high degree that a gentleman who had heldthe position towards her that Mr Keswick had held, should bring hersuch a message from another man. She was, therefore, seized with asudden impulse to punish him, and, without in the least expecting thathe would carry such an answer, she had given him the one which he hadtaken to Mr Croft. Having, until the day on which she was writing,heard nothing further on the subject, she had supposed that herexpectations had been realized. But on this day the astonishing letterfrom Mrs Keswick had arrived, and it made her understand that notonly had her impulsive answer been delivered, but that Mr Crofthad informed other persons that he had been accepted. She wished,therefore, to lose no time in stating to Mr Croft that what she hadsaid to him, with her own lips, was to be received as her finalresolve; and that the answer given to Mr Keswick was not intended forMr Croft's ears.

Miss March then went on to say that it might be possible that she owedMr Croft an apology for the somewhat ungracious manner in which shehad treated him at Mrs Keswick's house; but she assured herselfthat Mr Croft owed her an apology, not only for the manner of hisattentions, but for the peculiar publicity he had given them. In thatcase the apologies neutralized each other. Miss March had no intentionof answering Mrs Keswick's letter. Under no circumstances couldshe have considered, for a moment, its absurd suggestions andrecommendations; and it contained allusions to Mr Croft and anotherperson which, if not founded upon the imagination of Mrs Keswick,certainly concerned nothing with which Miss March had anything to do.

The proud spirit of Lawrence Croft was a good deal ruffled when heread this letter, but he made no remark about it. "Would you like toread it?" he said to Annie.

She greatly desired to read it, but there was something in her lover'sface, and in the tone in which he spoke, which made her suspect thatthe reading of that letter might be, in some degree, humiliating tohim. She was certain, from the expression of his face as he read it,that the letter contained matter very unpleasant to Lawrence, and itmight be that it would wound him to have another person, especiallyherself, read them; and so she said: "I don't care to read it if youwill tell me why she wrote to you, and the point of what she says."

"Thank you," said Lawrence. And he crumpled the letter in his hand ashe spoke. "She wrote," he continued, "in consequence of a letter shehas had from your aunt."

"What!" exclaimed Annie. "Did Aunt Keswick write to her?"

"Yes," said Lawrence, "and sent it by a special messenger. She musthave told her all the heinous crimes with which she charged you andme, particularly me; and this must have been the first intimation toMiss March that her cousin had given me the answer she made to him;therefore Miss March writes in haste to let me know that she did notintend that that answer should be given to me, and that she wishes itgenerally understood that I have no more connection with her than Ihave with the Queen of Spain. That is the sum and substance of theletter."

"I knew as well as I know anything in the world," said Annie, "thatthat message Junius brought you meant nothing." And, taking thecrumpled letter from his hand, she threw it on the few embers thatremained in the fireplace; and, as it blazed and crumbled into blackashes, she said: "Now that is the end of Roberta March!"

"Yes," said Lawrence, emphasizing his remark with an encircling arm,"so far as we are concerned, that is the end of her."

CHAPTER XXVIII.

On the next day, old Aunt Patsy was buried. Mrs Keswick and Annieattended the ceremonies in the cabin, but they did not go to theburial. After a time, it might be in a week or two, or it might be ina year, the funeral sermon would be preached in the church, and theywould go to hear that. Aunt Patsy never finished her crazy quilt,several pieces being wanted to one corner of it; but in the few dayspreceding her burial two old women of the congregation, with tremblinghands and uncertain eyes, sewed in these pieces, and finished thequilt, in which the body of the venerable sister was wrapped,according to her well-known wish and desire. It is customary among thenegroes to keep the remains of their friends a very short time afterdeath, but Aunt Patsy had lived so long upon this earth that it wasgenerally conceded that her spirit would not object to her bodyremaining above ground until all necessary arrangements should becompleted, and until all people who had known or heard of her had hadan opportunity of taking a last look at her. As she had been so verywell known to almost everybody's grandparents, a good many peopleavailed themselves of this privilege.

After Mrs Keswick's return from Aunt Patsy's cabin, where, accordingto her custom, she made herself very prominent, it was noticeable thatshe had dropped some of the grave reserve in which she had wrappedherself during the preceding day. It was impossible for her, at leastbut for a very short time, to act in a manner unsuited to her nature;and reserve and constraint had never been suited to her nature. She,therefore, began to speak on general subjects in her ordinary freemanner to the various persons in her house; but it must not besupposed that she exhibited any contrition for the outrageous way inwhich she had spoken to Annie and Lawrence, or gave them any reasonto suppose that the laceration of their souls on that occasion was amatter which, at present, needed any consideration whatever from her.An angel, born of memory and imagination, might come to her fromheaven, and so work upon her superstitious feelings as to induce herto stop short in her course of reckless vengeance; but she would not,on that account, fall upon anybody's neck, or ask forgiveness foranything she had done to anybody. She did not accuse herself, norrepent; she only stopped. "After this," she said, "you all can do asyou please. I have no further concern with your affairs. Only don'ttalk to me about them."

She told Lawrence, in a manner that would seem to indicate a moderate,but courteous, interest in his welfare, that he must not think ofleaving her house until his ankle had fully recovered its strength;and she even went so far as to suggest the use of a patent lotionwhich she had seen at the store at Howlett's. She resumed her former